Reminder to self, from Epictetus:
Sheep do not spit out grass to show the farmer how much they’ve eaten—they ruminate on it, digest it, then display the results in wool and milk. In the same way, do not spew your undigested thoughts; show their results in action.
The Manual: A Philosophers Guide to Life, by Sam Torode, ch. 46
That’s an accessible rewrite of The Enchiridion that I found. Sometimes it’s good to read the same stuff from a different person’s view.
For contrast, here is the other translation I have on my phone:
For sheep, too, don’t vomit up their fodder to show the shepherds how much they’ve eaten, but digest their food inside them, and produce wool and milk on the outside. And so you likewise shouldn’t show off your principles to laymen, but rather show them the actions that result from those principles when they’ve been properly digested.
Handbook, 46.1
Anyway, that gave my ego a little jab today when I read it. I am too eager to show everyone how fabulous I am in some way or another, seeking praise.
Shut the fuck up. Do what you’re supposed to do. Listen intently. Own your own life, and remember that the praise of others means nothing in the long run. And the short run, too, for that matter.
I had an experience yesterday, just one of those quiet moments when insights rush in and a gong goes off in your head. After running an errand I parked a little bit up the street because the neighbors on the east side of our house were having a birthday party for their young son.
As I was walking down the sidewalk to the house, there was a small car with a young couple in it, parked at the curb in front of the neighbor’s house on the west side of our house. It has a for sale sign up, and the two in the car were looking at the house, talking, and writing things down.
Flashback. Twenty-five years ago, that couple was us: driving around in a shitty little Honda Civic, renters dreaming of owning a house, not knowing how we were going to do it.
The moment was blindingly poignant because we were that couple, looking at that very house 25 years ago, and we bought it. Our first house. It all started in that little house.
Kids. Life. Everything.
A quarter-century on this block.
What does that have to do with Epictetus? Nothing, I suppose, except that in fact we quietly kept our heads down and have done The Work. The work of inner development. The work of parenting to the best of our ability.
As much as I rag on myself for being a loser (when will this inner dialog stop?) we have grown to solid and reliable human beings. Epictetus might recognize some progress.
As long as I’m on The Path I am content. I’m where I should be.
Just a reminder, though: no bragging about how spiritually (!) or intellectually (!) evolved you are. You as far from the horizon today as you were last year or last century. No bragging about your running. (That’s the trivial and obvious way in which I see the ego popping up).
Just, as they say, shut up and . . .
Get after it.
Get some.
Don’t use your time and energy to self-motivate in order to do what needs to be done. Just do it. The doing will create its own motivation.
And shitcan the braggy stuff.